Shards of me
by SimplyUnmistakable
Summary: Memories of lost ones are just ashes of what was the burning fire of a life.


**Chapter 1**

_The Dark Lord rises and falls_

She walked really slowly, not feeling the need to hurry anyhow. In her pocket there was still that picture of Ron. He wasn't smiling. Why did he have to be so gloomy in every single picture she could find? Because of that silliness of his in front of cameras, she would never see his smile again.

"I hate you so much for leaving me here with these idiots," she muttered under her breath. She felt her eyes burning again, but managed to keep tears from coming this time. Not in public. She didn't have to cry in public.

Hermione couldn't ever understand their stupid tradition. She wasn't going to start that now. Draco wasn't even religious. He declared it openly one night, she remembered:

"I'm going to Hell in every religion, so why even try?"

She could have been free now. Nothing held her tied by that man. Still, it seemed impossible. She wasn't strong enough anymore. She had been through too much. A new beginning? Just the thought of it frightened her. She was barely keeping up with the current present, barely trying to understand the past and accept the future. And the future seemed dark.

She had no idea why she was still alive or why she was still free. Somehow, she wanted none of them anyway.

"Let's keep moving," the blonde haired man pushed her impatiently. She nodded, suddenly aware she stopped in the middle of the way. She hated his presence but was still thankful for it. It was a shame even Draco Malfoy got to be stronger than her.

What happened? When did she fall so hard? The last year went by so unnoticed. And there she has awoken, walking out a train, in the company of that man… and those people. She had no memories of those people, though now it dawned to her she had spent the last year mostly in their company. There had had to be mostly company, she remembered, so she hadn't had to stay only in his presence – always.

The people were far from her dearest: Astoria Greengrass and her sister, Daphne, their parents, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Draco's parents (still scoffing at the sight of her every single time); Draco and Goyle hadn't even watched each other in the eyes after Crabbe's death, in the Room of Requirement, at, at least as far as she was concerned. She had seen them avoiding each other's gaze while she cried over the tombs of the ones she most loved, apart from her parents, her friend and her lover: Harry and Ron.

The memory came back again. There she was, too scared to move. There was Ron, taking that curse for her, while a dying Harry was asking no one but Draco Malfoy to promise he'd take care of his friends if he died instead of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

The great power of the Dark Lord came. For some reason, Draco kept the promise. For obvious reasons, seeing at the absent look on my face, probably, the weakness in my figure, the incapacity of thinking and even not moving for a while, too, I was spared.

I guessed it had been rather a pleasure for You-Know-Who to watch her dying slowly, crying her heart out rather than killing her at once and get things done so easily for the last member of the Trio that, yet not too powerful, was the greatest obstacle in his way, though he would have never recognized that, of course.

She had no really many memories of the times under the Dark Lord's power. She could just remember Draco moving her here and there, with some woman taking care of her, as if he had been afraid they would have killed her if he had turned his eyes away for a moment.

She still couldn't understand why it was so important for him to keep his promise. But he did – even after the Dark Lord was gone.

That happened one November night, months before. After the Great Battle, after Snape's disgrace, Bellatrix became once again He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's favorite, just like in the old good times. With her influence, the Malfoys also had great passing towards the Dark Lord. But Narcissa feared.

She feared for her son. She feared for her sister, Andromeda. She even feared for 'that little bug of a child Andromeda had to raise due to the death of her daughter and that husband of hers'. Well, she didn't really care for the child. She just knew Andromeda would give her life for her grandson, so, indirectly, Narcissa just wanted to take care of her sister.

All that everybody knew was that, that November night, with no little fear or regret (only Merlin could know what was in her heart and mind that night), making use of the passing she had, she managed to poison the Dark Lord himself.

Hermione wasn't sure if Draco had had anything to do with it or he had just intuited it, but the fact was that, the next morning, there were found death the Dark Lord and also Bellatrix. Later, they said Bellatrix found out immediately about what happened, that she was just about to kill her sister, when she simply fell like petrified. Behind her, Draco had his wand up and a terrorized look upon his face.

By dawn, the Malfoys were the new heroes of the Wizarding World and their friends were also forgiven. Although jealous of his life because of Harry's fame, gained just the same, Draco didn't comment much about it, neither showed pride or happiness. He was simply nodding whenever anyone asked him something about it, pulling Hermione towards him.

At the moment, they were all heading to an official religious ceremony for the ones dead because of Voldemort. Most of the Weasleys (Bill and Fleur escaped to Egypt and Charlie to Romania), Harry Potter and Severus Snape were highly praised. Hermione found that as incredibly ironical and absolutely fake, but she kept her mouth shut, just as she had done all along.

"Sit," a new command came from her protector.

She took a seat, realizing they were there, in the same place where had been Dumbledore's farewell. Now there were many more tombs, though, with all the soldiers of the Wizarding War. The ceremony soon began.

A pair of grey eyes scanned her. The absent look told everything: once again, she forgot where she was and what was she doing there, slowly falling into the back of her mind – and she'd be there for a while... again.


End file.
